


Give You Home

by mustdefine



Series: Swan Queen Week (June 2014) [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To hell with fate and feuds. I’m saying that I want to give you home, too.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Swan Queen Week, Day 1: Awkward Situation. This was supposed to be 1k and ended up ... considerably longer. Thanks to Katya for the invaluable beta and cheerleading.

_(—and I’ll keep saying it because it’s true. I’m sorry, Regina. God, you have to understand that I didn’t know, all right? I didn’t think—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I want—_

_—you never mean, Emma, that’s the problem. The Savior simply shows up and tears people apart. You don’t think and you don’t know and you don’t mean, but you want. And you always get what you want._

_Regina, I..._

_No. You need to leave. Now. Don’t come back here._ )

Emma yanks at a shelf too hard and bangs her head against the inside of the fridge. _Goddammit_ _._ She sits back on her heels, narrowing her eyes against the wash of cold air, and stares resolutely into the mostly-empty fridge. Unidentifiable orange-brown goop has seeped down the back wall. Flecks of spaghetti sauce adorn one side. Gross.

Cleaning out refrigerators is not generally a problem she’s had to deal with as an adult. Emma Swan learned very early in life never to leave leftovers. To live in a place where people (okay, Mary Margaret) cooked in abundance and there was something new to eat every time she peered inside the fridge—that was a luxury she’d never taken for granted. Not even after the first curse-breaking thing had happened and Mary Margaret had gone on a quietly frenzied cooking spree for her newly-discovered daughter.

These days, there’s a little less cooking. But Mary Margaret always sends her and Henry home with leftovers, or David comes over to watch the game and orders more pizza than they can eat. And sometimes Henry comes back from Regina’s with a container of chicken or pasta or empanadillas—perfectly portioned out for two people, which is the only sign that Regina acknowledges her existence these days, and even that has been a relatively recent development. Not one influenced by anything Emma’s done to apologize, as far as Emma can tell (and she has tried, she’s tried so hard), but she’ll take anything that means Regina might one day be willing to talk to her again. Even if she has to send the empty dishes back with Henry for now.

Regina’s voice pops into her head, which has been happening occasionally lately ( _hey, subconscious, real helpful there_ ) and which is pretty fucking annoying when the real one won’t talk to her despite everything Emma’s tried to do to mend fences. _Outstanding job, Miss Swan_ , the voice drawls.

_Thanks, fake Regina._

_I mean it, dear. You’re finally doing something about the disgusting environment in which you store my son’s food. I’m very glad to know you place such a high value on cleanliness._

_Asshole_ _,_ she thinks at her subconscious.

The bottom shelf sits stubbornly in its plastic frame. Emma tries glaring at it some more, as if she could move it out of sheer force of will. The glaring is unsuccessful. She tugs at the shelf a few more times but can’t unseat it. She can just see all the crumbs and goop and hair (double gross) collecting underneath it. Emma’s pretty sure Regina never has to clean her fridge. If she does, she probably does it with magic in under five minutes, and no shelf would dare resist her. She briefly considers trying magic, but she’s pretty sure she’d end up breaking the entire damn appliance.

_Perhaps you should ask Regina for some advice. Oh, that’s right, she isn’t speaking to you, is she? I suppose you’ll end up doing whatever you feel is right. Your instincts have served you so well in that regard._

“Shut up,” Emma mutters aloud. She gets up and goes over to her stereo dock, resisting the urge to tap her messages app and brood over the last text conversation she’d had with Regina a week and a half ago ( _What part of “leave me alone” did you not understand, Miss Swan?_ ). Classic rock playlist #2 sounds pretty good right about now.

Emma gives up on the shelf for now and cleans the inside of the fridge. The buzzing of the fridge’s light bulb is annoying. She should probably replace that soon. After she’s done cleaning. She starts singing along with the music, softly at first and then loudly. Henry’s at Nick’s for the day and she’s pretty sure Arjun, their next-door neighbor, is pulling a shift at the video store. No one’s here to hear her horrendously off-key ( _Ma, I love you but can you maybe not_ ) musical stylings.

She goes through the food she’s removed from the fridge and chucks a trash bag outside the front door to run to the dumpster later. Then she moves to the sink and scrubs the shelves and drawers she’s managed to extract thus far. They’re all really fucking gross with dried food and shit or whatever on them. This job actually requires some elbow grease. Emma’s normally not much of a clean freak, but the mindless work is oddly soothing. She’s actually proud of herself when she’s put the last drawer down on the counter to dry, all sanitized and everything.

_It’s almost like you’re a real adult who knows what she’s doing_ , Regina purrs in her head.

Emma turns the music up, way up, so loud that she can feel the bass in her stomach and hear only a wall of sound, and dances back over to the fridge. This shelf is coming out, whether it wants to or not. She yanks on it. Something cracks and the fridge moves forward a little with the effort.

_Yes, because if you’ve decided something should happen, it will. No matter what damage it may cause._

She gets a quick flash of Regina’s face in the diner, the betrayal and disappointment and the realization that Regina’s alone once again. _You did this._ That memory’s been haunting her for the last couple of weeks, driving every effort she’s made to reach out to Regina. Regina was happy, Regina _trusted_ her, and Emma fucked it all up because she had to screw around with time travel.

No. She’s going to fix this. She has to. She isn’t sure how to make that happen or if it’s even possible to fix the mess she’s made. But Regina deserves the effort, even if that’s all Emma can give her.

Emma stands up, wraps her arms around the fridge, and pulls, grunting with the strain. The door bangs against her hip and then swings wide open, wider than she’d been able to open it before. The shelf comes out easily in her hands. _Brute force. Why am I not surprised?_ the Regina in her head says, but the song’s crescendoing and she’s been fighting with this shelf for like fifteen minutes, so Emma rides the surge of elation she feels at her minor triumph. She hoists the shelf above her head and lets out a whoop, jigging in an impromptu victory dance, bellowing along to the music at the top of her lungs because if she can solve this maybe she can repair what she’s done to Regina. Emma half-turns, still singing heartily, ready to skirt the open fridge door and move over to the sink, and _shit shit shit_ Regina is there, Regina is in her apartment, Regina is _in her apartment_ —

Regina’s mouth is moving. Emma realizes she’s saying something. Emma realizes she is standing in the middle of a kitchen that looks like the fridge exploded into it, containers and bottles and drawers and shelves strewn haphazardly on every available surface, and Emma’s wearing nothing but a sports bra and boxers and she’s still holding the shelf in the air like an idiot. She puts it down. They stare at each other for an endless moment until Regina waves a hand and the music stops. The silence is deafening.

Regina’s eyes crawl down Emma’s exposed torso and legs, flick over to the scratched table and countertops jammed full of store-bought cookies, misshapen loaves of white bread, wrinkled apples, juice from concentrate. There’s water on the cracked linoleum and sticky residue from that drippy open can of soup she’d spilled earlier. Behind Emma, the refrigerator’s single light bulb flickers, whines, and goes dark with a sad little _buzz-pop_!

“You’ve been keeping busy, I see,” Regina says neutrally. She’s impeccably dressed and composed as always. It’s manifestly unfair.

“Yeah, uh, this thing probably hasn’t been cleaned since the eighties. Figured it was time.” Emma attempts a smile and realizes too late that the fridge has only existed since the eighties. And, hold on, who has Rumple been renting this place to, anyway? Has _anyone_ ever cleaned the fridge? The smile turns into a grimace.

Regina turns to take in the worn carpet and used couch, and, really, it’s beyond annoying how well that look of disdain suits the woman’s features. Her eyes return to Emma, laser sharp, clearly cataloging every deficiency and reviewing every way in which Emma has fucked things up over the last few months. Emma feels her ire rise. As if Regina has any right to judge, showing up completely unannounced after telling Emma she didn’t want to see or hear from her again. Not that Emma’s not glad to finally see Regina. She just ... would’ve cleaned up first if she’d known. She asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I was driving past and thought I should inspect the rat-infested flophouse my son stays in when he’s not with me.”

Maybe she isn’t that glad to see Regina. “Okay, one, no rats and definitely not a flophouse.” Like Regina would have tolerated something like that in her town. “Two, have you ever heard of calling ahead? Texting? Messenger pigeon?”

“I’m so _terribly_ sorry to have interrupted your cleaning. Besides, I didn’t think you’d be home.”

Emma’s eyes narrow. _Lie_. The Bug’s parked right outside. “You wanted to see me.”

“I assure you, Miss Swan, you are the last person in any realm I’d want to see.”

“Well, you’re still standing here talking to me, so you must—wait. How did you get inside?”

“Henry gave me a key. I did knock, but the music … I’d thought perhaps he was home as well and wasn’t answering his phone. I certainly didn’t expect ...” A hand wave manages to encompass the chaos and Emma’s state of undress. “ _This_.”

“Ah,” Emma says. She’d hoped sending Regina a key was the right move, for emergencies or—well, it’d seemed like the thing to do. _A divorced lesbian mommies thing_ , her brain supplies helpfully, which isn’t far from the truth. Emma just hadn’t pictured Regina barging in on her doing the Frigidaire shuffle in her underwear. She turns to close the fridge door and unobtrusively swipes the back of her hand across her grimy forehead, trying to clear away the sweaty strands of hair that are plastered across her brow. Something about Regina makes her feel like an awkward, angry teenager a lot of the time, and right now is definitely one of those times. “No, he’s at a friend’s house till past dinner. Well, whatever. You’re here. Better look around so you can properly sneer at the place.”

“Oh, I’ve seen enough. Enough to see your taste in housing is as poor as your tastes in apparel, diet, and men. ”

“You don’t want to see Henry’s room?” Emma says through gritted teeth.

Regina’s supercilious expression softens ever so slightly at the name. “Perhaps Henry could show me his room another time.”

“That’s fine,” Emma says tightly. Regina remains, eyes like a bank of coals, and Emma can’t figure out why the woman’s here. Aside from picking a fight with Emma about the apartment. Fighting’s about all they know how to do these days, but the conflicts sting more than they used to, leaving Emma scowling into a glass of scotch afterward more often than not. She thinks maybe Regina does the same, alone in her tastefully appointed study. “You want a drink?”

“Why would I want a drink?”

“Because the beer’s already out.”

“I don’t drink beer,” Regina says dismissively.

“Oookay.” Well, she’s damn well going to have one. “Really, Regina, why are you here?”

“I am legitimately concerned about my son’s living environment. I don’t know why I would expect you to understand that.”

Emma snorts, because they both know she does, and reaches for a beer. “That’s definitely not the only reason you’re here.” The cap skitters away and she takes a fortifying pull.

“What other reason could I possibly have for coming to see the woman who ruined my life?”

“I don’t know, maybe you decided you don’t _completely_ hate my guts and you want to let me finish apologizing for fucking up your life.”

Regina’s laughter is dark and menacing, the kind that sounds like it should be echoing down stone corridors. Very Evil Queen-y, in fact. She tosses her head. “Do you honestly think I came by so you could belabor me once more with how sorry you are?”

Emma feels her mouth twist unpleasantly. She’s feeling really angrily conciliatory right now, which is basically the weirdest feeling ever. “Yeah, no, I’m gonna guess you’re not here for that. Even though I really want to make it up to you somehow. Which is hard when you don’t want me to try.”

“And yet you continue to force the sentiment on me.” She leans in, enunciating carefully, and Emma can’t help but watch the exaggerated motion of wine-dark lips over white teeth. “Word of advice, dear. I don’t take kindly to people who disregard my wishes.”

“I’m not trying to force anything on you, okay? I haven’t come by the house and I stopped texting you when you asked. I care about what you want, Regina!”

They’ve been steadily closing the distance throughout the conversation. Now Regina laughs in her face and Emma feels the breath of it, a deceptive warmth at odds with her next words. “When have you ever cared about what I wanted, _Emma_? Be honest with yourself. You want me to let you apologize and atone because you need to do something to make yourself feel better. A little sop that will assuage _your_ guilt.”

“Christ, Regina, you know that’s not what’s going on here!”

“What is going on here, Emma? Because, frankly, your groveling’s growing tiresome.”

They’re both breathing rapidly, faces less than a foot apart. Emma’s entire body is tense. Regina’s got her hands in her coat pockets, chin lifted and eyes blazing with anger.

Anger and something else.

Loss, or longing, or something very like it.

_That doesn’t sound much like a happy ending._

_It's not. But I can give you one._

And just like that, everything falls into place. Emma’s vision narrows. She takes a single step forward, watches the way Regina’s eyes map her face. She’s tried to respect Regina’s wishes, but it’s in Emma’s nature to pursue. And Regina is not here because of Henry. “What’s going on here is you and me, Regina,” Emma bites out, six inches from Regina’s mouth. “It’s been about you and me for a while.”

“What the hell are you talking about, _Savior_?” Regina hisses, and Emma sets her beer down and clamps her hands over Regina’s biceps.

“Us, Regina. And don’t fucking pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s why you’re the last person in this goddamned town I’d want to see hurt aside from Henry, and it’s why I’ve been so fucking persistent in coming after you, and it’s why I sent Hook away.”

“You—you sent Hook away?”

“Yeah. Didn’t even take a week to figure out that giving in to him was the worst idea I’ve had in a long time.” Well. It’d been three days, and then two more of _let’s just talk it out, love_ and a few more of threats (on Emma’s side) and pleading (on his). There might have been a well-placed knife (Emma’s) before the pirate had fled town.

Regina is very still under her hands. “I don’t see how any of this is relevant to what you did to me.”

“What’s relevant is that Hook sold his ship for me. And that was very much a transaction in his eyes. You … gave up everything with no hope of anything in return.” When Regina remains stubbornly quiet, refusing to meet her halfway, Emma sighs. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.” Fair enough, she guesses.

“I can’t very well force you to say anything when I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emma blows out a breath and stands back, scraping a hand over her scraggly ponytail. Regina’s gaze drifts over to her bicep before snapping back to her face. “Okay. So. Saving Marian was the right thing to do and I wouldn’t change that. How I did it ... that’s another story.” She feels Regina’s gaze bore into her, but she can’t return anger for anger any more. Regina is standing in her apartment, in the home she and Henry are trying to make here in the full knowledge of who they are and how they fit in this town.

How they fit. She thinks of Regina taking her hand and giving her the life she’d always wanted with Henry, thinks of Regina breaking a curse by loving their son down to her very soul, thinks of them holding their son together. She thinks about what Regina must have been thinking about these past few weeks. “Seeing you this unhappy sucks, because you’ve given me so much, me and Henry. There’s no way I could ever repay you. You gave us each other—you gave us home. And then I hung onto that for so long and it hurt you.” Regina is staring at her and Emma plows onward. “I was an asshole to you ninety percent of the time after we came back from New York because I thought you’d take away the happiness you’d given me. I didn’t stop to think about yours. That was wrong and I’m sorry. And then this thing with Robin and bringing back Marian—” Regina’s lips tighten and Emma thinks _I’m sorry_ with everything in her. “Look, you know what I think about destiny and choice and shitty fairy dust or whatever. I’m not going to repeat that, because deep down I think you agree with me. Here’s the thing, Regina ... you gave me so much. I hate knowing what I took from you on top of that. I can’t fix that, but I’m here anyway. And I want...”

“What do you want?” Regina’s voice is dangerously quiet, and Emma steps closer.

“You said you didn’t trust me any more and you didn’t want me near you, and I tried to respect that, because you deserve it. But I know you, Regina. I’ve believed in you for a long time. And I want—”

“You want me to forgive you? Give you absolution?” Regina’s lip curls, but Emma catches its tremble. “You should know I’m not capable of that.”

“Regina. I want you to let me try to be part of your life again..”

“Part of your—you’re being utterly ridiculous. We were never friends, Miss Swan.”

“Yes. We were. More than that.”

“More than that!” Regina laughs in a single breath, and Emma knows the hollow sense of loneliness hidden under the scorn, knows it in her bones.

“Yeah,” she says. Her heart’s pounding. She thinks of the warmth in Regina’s eyes at the town line and in Regina’s office making the potion and in Emma’s car and in the hospital hallway. She remembers _Henry is everything_ and the way Regina looked at her in Neverland and on the ship back home, the way her eyes said _hope_ and _family_. These are all the things they’ve never been able to say, but Emma has to say it. Because Regina is in her home and gave her home and this is real, this is a chance. “More than that. Before we had to leave, it felt like we were starting to be a family. New York was the happiest I’d ever been in my life, but something was missing. This ... whatever’s between us, whatever we are ... Regina, you told me three weeks ago that I break things and that I always get what I want. Well, maybe I do. But I want us again.” She swallows. Hard. “You and me and Henry. Together. For all our sakes.”

Regina’s gone completely still. “What are you saying, Emma?”

She takes Regina’s hands. “I’m saying I’m not going to leave you alone any more, because we both know you came here looking for what I’ve been trying to give you.”

“And that is?” Regina whispers.

“Me. Us.” Shit, her heart is hammering so fast it might explode. “I’m saying we can choose each other. We can choose this family, and to hell with fate and feuds. I’m saying that I want to give you home, too.”

Regina stares up at Emma, eyes glittering as tears well up, as the muted hum of their magic washes through both of them. “You can’t replace a soulmate, Emma,” she says at last, and Emma’s heart soars because she knows Regina isn’t rejecting her, Regina isn’t denying the current that’s always run between them that has nothing to do with magic.

“No,” Emma says softly, and moves closer still. She can see how sad and desperate Regina’s eyes are, how they longingly drop to Emma’s lips, how Regina’s breathing has quickened. “And I’m not trying to. But.” She leans forward until they’re touching foreheads and sharing breath, until she can whisper into Regina’s mouth and let Regina taste her words. “When Henry brought me to Storybrooke, he was bringing me home. To him, to my parents. And to you.”

“Emma…”

“No,” Emma says against her lips. “You’ve become my home. Let me be yours.”

“I’m still so angry at you,” Regina whispers.

“I know,” Emma says. “That’s okay.” And she closes her eyes and waits, waits for Regina to make her choice, waits until Regina makes a tiny sound in the back of her throat and closes the distance and then they’re kissing, Regina’s mouth hot and frantic against Emma’s, Regina’s hands clutching at her back and ass. Regina bites her lip savagely with only a cursory flick of her tongue to soothe before nipping at Emma’s bottom lip again and Emma moans into it. Regina’s hands slide over Emma’s abs and settle on her hips, pushing until Emma feels her back collide with the cool surface of the fridge. She grabs Regina around the waist as Regina leans into her, letting her hands slide down to cup Regina’s ass, which feels exactly as glorious as she’d always imagined, and oh god Regina’s a hair-puller. Regina yanks Emma’s hair tie out with a wordless snarl. She buries her hands in Emma’s hair, jerking her head back to expose her throat. The breath hitches in Emma’s chest as teeth scrape along her jugular.

“God, Regina,” she chokes out.

“Shut up.” Regina kisses her again. Nails scrape along Emma’s ribs, beside her spine, the back of her neck, and across her biceps. Regina’s fingers curl around her sports bra and pull, and Emma makes a strangled noise as teeth sink mercilessly into her breast and a hot tongue finds her nipple. One of Regina’s hands trails over Emma’s abs and dips inexorably below the band of her underwear, and Emma’s hips move toward it in search of more pressure.

Regina’s hand stills. She lifts her head abruptly, pupils blown wide, hair messy, lipstick smeared and lips drawn back in a near-snarl. She’s utterly magnificent. “You want me,” Regina says.

“Yes,” Emma pants. “God, yes.”

Uncertainty shimmers in Regina’s eyes for a moment before it’s gone. The heel of her palm presses hard against Emma’s clit and Emma kisses her, gasping into her mouth as fingers slide into her.

When it’s Regina’s turn, Emma presses words to the haven of her skin like offerings.

“Well,” Regina says, much later. “This complicates things.”

Emma feels silence spreading throughout the apartment, a strange almost-peace of which the epicenter is her and Regina. “I don’t know,” she says at last, pulling the blanket over them as they lie in a tangle of limbs on the couch. “It makes sense to me. You make sense.”

The glossy head tucked under her chin moves a little. “Destiny and prophecy work in odd ways, Emma. I’m unsure how … all this will play out.”

“We’ll figure it out, okay? All I care about right now is that we’re here.” Emma buries her nose in Regina’s hair. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and ginger. “Oh, Henry will be home in a while.” An hour? Yeah, sure. “Maybe when he gets back we could all hang out or something. Tell him things are gonna be okay.”

Regina’s thumb sweeps against her ribcage. “I’d like that.”

“Mmm.”

“We have to explain things to him fully, you know.”

“Yeah. He’ll understand, I think.”

“He’s gotten attached to Robin,” Regina murmurs.

They’re silent for a while. It hurts to think about how lonely and isolated Regina must have been, for her to cling to Robin so quickly. So Emma just repeats, “We’ll figure it out.” She kisses the top of Regina’s head and strokes her back in a silent promise, and the other woman sighs into her neck. “Anyway,” Emma says after a few minutes. “I have a clean fridge. That’s what really counts, right?” She lets her lips curve up when Regina lifts her head to look at her in disbelief.

“Miss Swan—”

“Oh, you’re Miss Swan-ing me? Score.”

“How, exactly, is that positive for you?”

Emma stretches, feeling her spine crack, and resettles her arms around Regina. “Always wanted to hear you call me that in bed.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know.”

“And you smell like a refrigerator.”

“Well, if you’re getting hungry—ow!!”

Regina smiles smugly and pats Emma’s hip under the blanket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear.”

“Seriously—mmph—ohh...”

A key turns in the lock. Emma and Regina look up, horrified, as Henry tumbles in. “Ma, I’m home for a sec, just came back to grab OH, SHIT, OH, GOD MY EYES—”

“Henry!!”

Henry backs out, babbling something about Nick’s house with his eyes screwed shut, and slams the door. Emma’s got her hands around Regina’s waist to keep her from lunging after him. “Regina— _Regina_ —it’s fine, he’s gonna be okay, it’s fine—”

“But we have to go explain to him—”

“Give us all a few minutes, huh? Maybe we can get dressed while he simmers down.” Emma kisses the corner of her jaw, keeps an arm around Regina’s hips. “And hey. Before you go. Totally have your containers from the other night. Henry was supposed to take them back, but, uh...you know, since you’re here and all...”

Regina drags her gaze from where it’s been fixed on the door. “You’re thinking about returning my dishes at a time like this?”

Emma shrugs and drops a kiss on Regina’s shoulder. “It’s either this or think about putting the fridge back together. Or ... you know, other things...”

“Emma.”

“Hmmm.”

“Em—mmm. Um.”

“Mhmm.”

“...Emma. We should...”

“Kid’s gonna be fine, and he’s definitely not coming back for a while,” Emma murmurs against Regina’s neck. “Think he’s going back for dinner at Nick’s. He should consider himself lucky. All he saw was a blanket. _You_ saw my fridge dance. Both of them.” She grins wickedly.

“Mmm, I—Emma ... Emma,” Regina says, and something in her tone makes Emma look up. They regard each other, dark and light entwined on the couch. “We still have a lot to talk about. It may take some time. To talk. But I don’t want to...” She hesitates.

“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling. She takes Regina’s hand and lifts it to her lips, watches that serious dark gaze regard her. “We’re already home, Regina. We can take all the time we need.”

Henry refuses to take Regina’s dishes back when he goes over for dinner two days later. But since Emma’s coming too, it’s no trouble.


End file.
